iFall Into Your Arms
by prouvaires
Summary: -she's not the damsel-in-distress type of girl.- SamFreddie


iFall Into Your Arms

She's not the damsel-in-distress kind of girl. It's just not the way she rolls.

And, to be honest, she could probably kick the ass of any would-be protector in a fight any day. That's just who she is.

But today, maybe she needs the opportunity to be a damsel. Because, really, if you find out your dad is in prison for murder, you kind of earn the right to curl up into a little ball and cry and hope that somebody comes and finds you and holds you tight and whispers that it will be okay.

Of course, when the someone arrives, it's the last person she wants it to be.

"Go away, Freddork."

"What's the matter?" The great thing about darling Freddington is that he doesn't even listen to her bullcrap, just cuts straight to the point. It probably has something to do with risk management and time-saving calculations and all sorts of other nerdish mumblings that she would make fun of if she was in the mood.

"You don't care."

"You say that like you really believe it."

He slides down the wall next to where she's lying and clasps a strong hand around her arm. She watches it in mild surprise. First of all, when was the last time he touched her voluntarily? Secondly, when did he get strong? And thirdly, why doesn't she care that he's in her personal space?

"Go away," she repeats, more half-heartedly this time. His hand slides up to her shoulder, gripping it firmly.

"Tell me what the matter is or I'll tell the world I found you _crying_."

"Ass," she mutters, pushing herself up into a sitting position next to him and wiping cheeks and nose with the back of her hand. With a weary sigh, Freddie hands a tissue over. "Thanks," she mumbles into it, blowing her nose loudly. Freddie settles an arm around her shoulders and, for some reason far beyond her comprehension, she lets her head fall easily into the crook of his neck.

"My dad deserves to die," she tells him, fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt. He gives a little start of surprise.

"You found who he is?"

"Yeah, he's the _total _piece of shit that killed that woman outside the club-place. Remember her?"

To his credit, Freddie doesn't even blink. He just tightens his grip and lays his other hand on her thigh.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," he says quietly, like he really means it, and she feels tears welling up again.

"Yeah, well. You might want to remember murder runs in my blood next time I threaten to kill you. You never know, I might really mean it."

"You're a good person," he insists, his arm clutching tighter again. "Just because your dad's a shitface doesn't mean you will be. You're too good to murder anyone."

She just leans her head further back against his shoulder and he pretends he doesn't notice the judder in her voice as she replies.

"You don't know that."

"No, but I know _you_," he retorts and suddenly, to her embarrassment, she's crying again and he's got both his arms tight around her and as she sobs into his chest she feels a small spike of ire that he's gotten taller than her.

She mumbles something against his shirt and he pulls her away slightly.

"What was that?" he enquires with a slight smile lifting the corner of his lips. She wipes her cheeks inelegantly and glares at him.

"Stop growing. S'not fair."

He just laughs and hands over a second tissue, watching silently as she crumples the previous one, lobbing it at the bin and getting it in first try. The fact that she doesn't goad him into attempting and failing a similar feat is the thing that _really _makes him realise how stricken she feels.

"Are you going to tell Carly?" he inquires quietly, his arm sliding back around her shoulders like it has a mind of its own.

She shrugs listlessly. "She'll probably make me get therapy or something."

"We've been trying to persuade you to get therapy for years. What's different about us doing it now?"

She just shrugs again. "I'm the daughter of a murderer. And no amount of chattering away to a therapist is going to change that."

"You're not your father, Sam."

She nestles against him and finds her fingers knotting in his hair before she really has a chance to think, and before she realises what's happening his lips are crashing on to hers and, to her horror, she likes it.

"No," she mumbles against his lips, and then adds more force to her second "no!" and pushes him away.

"What?" he's confused as he reaches for her, but she scrambles backwards across the floor of the studio, staying well out of his reach.

"Don't even think about it," she threatens dangerously, dropping her head into her hands. She's not really one for thinking, but she sits astonishingly still as she tries to puzzle things out.

Eventually, as Freddie gets cramp in his thigh for kneeling so long, her head snaps up and her gaze latches onto his.

"Why did you kiss me?"

He shrugs, making an impressive attempt at nonchalance. "Pity, maybe?"

He gets a furiously icy glare for his troubles, and she barrels towards him. He's expecting a slap or a good solid punch to the gut, but instead she just forces her mouth back onto his and without thinking about it he pulls her closer until he's toppled backwards onto the floor, Sam pinning him down with her weight, his hands tangled in her hair.

"It's pity now?" she asks acerbically when they finally part. He just pulls one side of his mouth up in a half-apology, and then kisses her again.

--

**A/N: **Please don't favourite without reviewing, thanks.


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